BloodiedSheets

and now, a sad disturbing thought to bright up this -not-going-to-college-not-moving-on-with-life-shit-for-life-paradigm that my existence has become. In my eating disorder group, they discussed suicide and depression. The stiff woman in the black glasses asked us all to think what the world would be like if we were actually gone. Not gone as in dead, a funeral and mourning parents, gone as in long gone. Never there. Devoured truly from within  and then vanished, a pack of dust that was never really molten into the right fit. And yet I found myself thinking that now, for the first time in my suicidal depressed life I had a clear idea how i'

My dearest Olga. Forgive me for the dramatic end of my last letter. It's just the mood this kind of thing drags you to. I heard from Lars, who heard from Barbara, that your mother's upcoming nuptials had to be interrupted by the gross inconvinience of mr the Lord dying. Sad, sad, my condolences to Tatiana, and to the world, who has missed the lovely oportunity of watching you sulk in a horrible pink gown that surely would make Narcissa look stunning, depress Barbara as to how enormous she apparently is, and make you want to murder someone in that frivolous little frown that sometimes graces your face. I don't know how to write to you anymor

Bedtime. if only tonight we could sleep not together, not too deep just close our eyes and                                      dream without all the words without all the price tags in your feet no climax, just a scream nothing flashy or fleshy or flesh a simple night in simple Earth if only I weren't I and it didn't mean so much for you to be you if you were here tonight a simple touch, a simple sin simple black, simple delight no regret and no despair no blurrness, no glitter, no madness,                 for today no looser fear of darkness a translucid day in tanslucid Earth a simple touch, a smooth seduction a nig

s u p ee r m a  [N.] Superman is such scarlet your cape or are you just bleeding? what is it that you are doing? shh.. is that one more dead maiden fair? before there was everything, there was nothing everything was alive but nothing was born only ideas of love and theories of treason until along came time, and a tiny explosion a red cloud kissed a drop of blood in the twilight and so you were born you little lamb, you weren't born to die cumming or to burn down tenderly you were born to burn to love love is destruction If this is God's voice, then God fucking hates you you who love him oh so much and he is poisonu

love or die. in a room that never ends, there are mirrors for veins it's always Sunday morning here and I get why you think I have something against life but I assure you, against God, I only have fear it's always Sunday morning here and I drink you for breakfast and wear you for prom dress. Or I die. I die. but I assure you. Against God, I only have fear but hear here, an admonition I drink you for breakfast and wear you for prom dress. Or I die. I die. I miss covering the bruises, I who have no need to lie but heare here, an admonition in times of sorrow, love can only be ammunition I miss covering the bruises, I who have no n

Chuck, 1.   How dare you, numbering letters is organizing, neat, and useful. 2.   I trust you lie about Patrick. But as most of my trusts for you, I doubt it (Oh don't frown. You lie all day, to the world, to you, to me. Specially to me. It's your favorite vice, and sometimes -note this- it's your most beastly virtue). Narcissa often goes to London to watch over Ian under the suspicion that his having an affair (True, by all accounts) and that it is with Barbara (you'll have to agree, it is the most stupidest thing you've ever heard about her. And yes, I said Barbara). But the point is, she saw Clara, and she has not received word from

love love love another carnival of me set to exploitation are you here to watch me burn in trade for consternation? peering to your stolen laces, bonds to hell in need for braces aye, will our fears ever show their faces? You and me and the dragons: to self decrepitude, the most constant patrons like rose and thorn, Ever wanting to be held, to never ever hold back Look a needle in the eye. You can run but you can't hide My darkest vices own me (only friends I'll ever have) Where's aesthetic in the carnage of our doom? oh love, I need to maim you because you don't and you will never and this live I lived in pursuit of your forever

Dearest Olga, It's dawn now. The sky is a stunning infinity of Pink and soft purple. It looks forgiving, and soft to the touch. Patrick's writting next to me, pausing and demanding if I know any good love phrases. He's writting a love novel to someone who, get this, is not his fiancée. Told you. When I get back, you and I are so completely getting lost in the woods near my state. The woods in Britain are diferent. Everything here smells different. Nothing is old and fallen to pieces. You need to see the sun in here. It's majestic. It all is. Except the Germans, of course. Or maybe their pantzers are a touch majestic. But don't tell anyo

Chuck, 1.   How dare you, I don't whine 2.   Barbara and Narcissa came down with the most exciting news. Mum is getting married again, to a Lord. I wonder when is social climbing going to get dull for the woman. She's here, moping about Lars like he was some kind of big hero. I heard from Barbara that Lars was going to get a leave, so he could watch his baby get born. Barbara is huge this days, you should see her. It annoys her to be so fat. Oh, dear, I really am very rude. 3.   Don't be disgruntled now, but I saw your father. His marriage (why does everyone marry? the glorious british empire is at war and